Streetlamps
by The Rational Dove
Summary: Matthew is a resident of an orphanage in New York City when he is taken hostage by a street gang. There, Matthew meets Alfred and is thrown into a life of survival. AU setting with human names. Rating may be bumped up.
1. Chapter 1

S **T** R _E_ E **T** L_ A _M** P** S

**A/N: This is a product of a craving for an Axis Powers Hetalia fanfiction that had an AU (alternate universe) setting that wasn't a borrowed plot line. So, I pondered, wrote a little drafting, listened to tons of music and worked and re-worked and re-worked and re-worked the plot many times over. I wanted to really make this a good piece. So, here is the first chapter. I hope that this is as much fun to read as it is for me to create.**

**~AnimeOtakuFreak1029**

**Chapter 1**

"_Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured."- Mark Twain_

0

"So…..Matthew…..what's your favorite animal?"

"….The polar bear." The reply was unsure, unsteady, as if person to whom it belonged was deathly afraid of a smack across the face for saying it. The couple who had asked the question could see the uncertainty tainting the atmosphere like the emotion were a sort of dye or smoke, plainly visible.

_Perhaps he was abused as a child? _the male of the two thought. If the teen was that discomfited with them around, he might've experienced some truly scarring events. If that were the case, the wannabe parents couldn't necessarily blame the blonde for his timid demeanor around adults.

An internal wave of disappointment slithered through Matthew as he noticed the looks of pity on his interviewers. He had seen that type of face too many times to number- most of the wearers under the impression that he had been victim of severe beatings as a youngster. _I didn't even KNOW my parents, let alone abused by them, _he pondered, irritated. _Can't any one of these couples go through an interview without jumping to conclusions?_ He tried his hardest not to sigh as he waiting patiently for the next question. Occasionally, he'd meet a rare couple that postulated the correct background- that he was merely a shy guy- or, if luck happened to be riding on the orphan's shoulders, someone who would actually interrogate him about his past in a neutral way, assumption-free. This pair, much to Matthew's chagrin, most likely belonged to the common variety, but there was always that slight chance they understood.

"Has anyone ever…bothered you or hurt you excessively before you came to the orphanage?"

Matthew's tiny balloon of hope deflated. "Um….no, ma'am…I have been bullied in the past [_and still to this day_], but not physically hurt….and I never knew my birth mother and father." The latter bit was added as a subtle intimation in the hopes all previous theories would be eradicated.

The young lady's face watered in a more defined expression of benevolence. "Oh, how awful! I'm terribly sorry to hear that…."

Matthew knew the woman meant well, but he couldn't quell the numbing grief in his stomach whenever the absence of a guardian was mentioned to him. It had remained a set in stone fact for the entirety of the sixteen years of his life, yet the pangs of remorse refused to cease. The pain wasn't as bitter as in the past, but it still sunk its teeth into his heart nevertheless.

The blonde resurfaced from his brief depression as the couple continued the interview, but Matthew didn't need to even look at the two adults to catch the waning interest between them. In a matter of five minutes, the pair rose to their feet, thanked the teenager for his time and departed.

Correct posture was discarded once the door swung back on his hinges. Violet eyes were shielded from view, a breath shaking Matthew's abdomen as he waited in silence, not bothering to make out the muffled voices beyond the door. How many rejection had he faced in the time he had lived here? 245? Something like that….245 pairs of adults, 245 rounds of questions, 245 introductions. The varied amounts of rejections was just as numerous-young couples, old couples, black couples, white couples, Hispanic couples, Oriental couples, couples with different ethnicities, single men and women, even gay and lesbian couples. You name a combination, Matthew had been interrogated by them. Most of the couples didn't even come close to adopting him, for whatever excuse they had conjured, and left him with that stale emptiness within his heart.

But it wasn't like the blonde expected to be adopted in any case. Being a teen, Matthew knew adoptions made in his age group were as rare as towering skyscrapers in rural Pennsylvania, especially at his age of sixteen. His caretaker, Yao Wang, often consoled him after each of his rejection, but it seldom helped improve the situation. Hope had been freed from the box long ago.

Matthew drew his attention to the door as Yao entered the room. His brown eyes were soft with sympathy. "I'm sorry, aru," he pulled over a chair from the opposite side of the table and settled down next to the teen. "I know it must be extremely hard to deal with this over and over, but I want you to know tha-"

"'There's always tomorrow, aru.' You've said that to me just as many times." From the way his caretaker flinched, Matthew could sense that the bitterness in his voice hadn't been anticipated in the least.

Yao's fingers picked at the ponytail swung over his shoulders, a nervous tic he had developed in the twilight of his childhood. Yao was talented at placating young children over the most complex matters (he had to be in order to run a successful orphanage), but teens well past fourteen were difficult to console. Matthew, a lifetime resident, normally was quite easy to comfort, but when it came to adoption interviews, Yao was better off letting the fuse burn out on its own. Despite this fact, Yao still felt the obligation to at least offer some sort of emotional support to the blonde, even if the sour mood did not improve.

Matthew, feeling a heavy weight of guilt sink into his stomach, cradled the underside of his chin in his hands, elbows propped on his flattened thighs. "I'm the one who should be sorry, Yao. It's not your fault no one wants to adopt me." A thin hand rested upon the Oriental man's shoulder opposite his ponytail. "And that's no excuse for me to take out my anger on you."

Yao's cheek twitched into a slight grin, but it curved downward in the same moment. "It's no one's fault but the couple, aru. Don't blame yourself for a decision someone else made, aru. If you didn't appeal to them, then that's that, aru." He braced himself for another caustic comment about how musty of a condolence that was, but he only received a less depressed expression from Matthew. The younger person's lips parted, as if to have words leave them, but a sobbing toddler burst into the room, distracting Yao from their conversation.

Matthew proceeded to exit the premise, leaving Yao to tend to the youth in peace. He made a right, strolling down the shorter end of the hallway before he stood in the foyer.

"Hey, Matt!" Some unidentified object soared down the stairwell behind him and latched itself onto Matthew, arms coiled around his neck area and legs clamped themselves to his waist. Taken aback, Matthew lost his balance and plummeted face-first onto the floor, glasses propelled into the air, clattering to the wood.

Whoever had caused the disturbance rolled off Matthew's back and rose to its feet. The blonde lifted his head from the synthetic planks, his violet eyes only recognizing hazy shapes and figures. A humanoid blur was bent down, as if picking something off the floor. He squinted, aiming to acknowledge the figure, but it wasn't until the person spoke that name corresponded with a (blurry) face.

"Sorry about that, da ze." Yong Soo apologized, holding out a fuzzy pair of eyeglasses for Matthew to take. As soon as his vision clarified, Matthew caught sight of his roommate's sparkling brown eyes and mop of chocolate brown hair that lay straight, aside from one stubborn curl that protruded out of the rest of his hair.

Yong Soo helped the disoriented Caucasian to his feet. "I thought you'd be able to hold me, but I forgot that you were a weakling."

Matthew shot the Korean an irritable glare. "I'm not a weakling." He rebuked, "I beat people two times my size in hockey. You of all people know that."

A pink tongue emerged from its house in Yong Soo's mouth. "So what? When you're off the ice, you're no match for me! Anyway, how did the interview go?"

"Take a guess." Matthew growled as he stomped up the stairs to the room he shared with Yong Soo.

"Hey, hey! No need to get touchy about it."

Matthew shuffled to a stop in front of the door to the dorm, another sag in his posture. "I know….It's just….I'm fed up with interviews. They don't accomplish anything, yet I'm still in there answering questions to a couple who isn't going to take me home anyway."

"I feel ya." A strong clap on the back was delivered to Matthew. "but hey! We only get, like, one interview every, what….two months? At least it's not every day."

"Mmmhmmmm." He pushed the door open, making himself home to a green swivel chair at a desk nearby. "I just wish Yao would give up making appointments with any new couples _period_. I mean, I'm going to be eighteen in two years. What point would a guardian serve if they could only provide care for so little time?"

"Ugh, same here," Yong Soo groaned, plopping onto the bottom mattress of the metal bunk bed, submerging his fingers into his jean pockets, minus his thumbs. "It's completely useless. Plus, none of the good people want older teens. The last time, I got this family of three who had the world's bitchiest eleven-year-old. She wouldn't stop asking me these useless questions." Here, Yong Soo scrunched up his nose so his nostrils were as prominent as possible, curled his upper lip, and talked in a high-pitched valley-girl voice. "'Do you have, like, rabies because you've been, like, living here and a dog might've, like, bit you? Oh my god, mom! What if he's, like, from North Korea and is a terrorist and might, like, kill the president or something? We should, like, check his room for bombs.' Dude, you have no idea how much I wanted to punch her through a wall."

Matthew's only response was a bout of uncontrollable laughter. He threw back his head, hands gripped around his abdominal area as he howled. He rocked forward occasionally, tears of mirth escaping the corners of his eyes.

A frown curled Yong Soo's lips downward as he folded his arms across his chest. "Stop laughing at my pain. I would've had to put up with that brat for the rest of my life if the couple had considered me."

Matthew, newly acquainted with his friend's pouting, brought down the chuckles to a lower rate. "Sorry, Yong Soo, for laughing, but that impression was just too ridiculous," he responded between breaths.

The Asian's mood was lifted as he realized the true reason behind his roommate's snickering. One of his infamous smirks replaced the glower previously worn. Matthew beamed back, his distress chased away by his laughter. Somehow, Yong Soo managed to stick a smile on his face, no matter how bleak the circumstances.

After a moment of silence passed, the Korean's eyes augmented, as if an incandescent light bulb had gone off in his head. "That's right! I had something to talk to you about."

Matthew leaned forward, eyes sparked in interest. "Yes?"

"Well, I was talking to Lovino the other day and he mentioned this little problem Feliciano is having…"

The words "Feliciano" and "problem" were a virtually inseparable pair. Whether the auburn haired-male was the source of said issue, or the person to whom which the issue was affecting and/or targeting made no real difference; both varieties occurred in virtually equal amounts. Lovino was certainly no exception to the rule. In nine out of ten cases, the older of the Vargas siblings would be sucked into the drama, leaving him in a fouler mood than usual. It baffled Matthew how anyone, even utter cravens like the Vargas brothers, could be such trouble magnets.

"Apparently, Feliciano was changing the other day when he thought he saw a face looking through the window. He didn't worry about it at first, but the same dude was there at the same time yesterday."

Surprise dominated Matthew's features. Peeping toms were, by no means, rare, but he couldn't readily imagine who would be willing to spy on those two. "But isn't their room on the second floor?"he inquired, incredulous.

"It's near the fire escape."

Matthew's arguments ceased. He adjusted his glasses, eyebrows scrunched in contemplation. "Did they call the police yet?"

"Like hell. You how Lovino hates to admit that they're weak. Calling the authorities would be death to their dignity."

"Yeah, but isn't their safety of the upmost importance? This peeping tom could break in and hurt either one of them."

Yong Soo's angled his vision to the ceiling. "Oh, come on, Matt. What fun would calling the police be anyway?" He leaned over, grasping the blonde's shoulders. "Besides, we're orphan kids. We're supposed to be toughies that fend for ourselves, not a bunch of pansies they rely on others to solve our problems. Don't forget that I have a black belt in tae kwon do. This dude doesn't stand a chance, da ze." He flashed a triumphant smile at the teen.

Matthew exhaled deeply, jaw taut with frustration. "Yong Soo, there's a huge difference between being brave and being reckless. Taking on this challenge is being completely reckless. This guy could be twice as big as you and have a gun or some sort of weapon with him."

"Jeez, Matt, you're turning into Yao," the Korea complained. "Next thing you know, your hair will be brown and you'll be ending all your sentences with 'aru'." There was a brief pause before Yong Soo proceeded. "Look, you don't have to help me exterminate our unwanted friend, but Lovi's counting on me to take care of this and I intend to do so." A newfound sobriety gleamed in the dark brown depths of Yong Soo's eyes. "I'm not telling Yao, either. He'll worry and I don't want to stress him out too much. He's got enough on his plate already."

Matthew tapped the pad of his thumb on the side of his cheek, knuckles resting on the bone as he became pensive. "I guess there's no stopping you, huh?"

"Nope." Yong Soo firmly patted his fellow orphan on one of the shoulders he held. "Now, I've gotta go practice my moves. Lovi said the peeper has been spotted around 5:00 and it's 4:45 now. Don't wanna be rusty!"

With that, the energetic male leaped to his sneakers and jogged out of the room, not a speck of trepidation on his visage as he vanished into the hallway.

Nails idily scraped at the skin underneath his blonde locks as Matthew crawled onto the mattress his friend had left vacant. He extended his arm, allowing himself to become engrossed in the wiring of the metal bed frame above his head. A swarm of butterflies seemed to be colliding into the walls of his stomach as he conjured images of an injured Yong Soo: bruises from head to toe, gaps in his mouth revealing sore patches of gum where teeth should be attached, blood pouring out of nasty gashes in his skin. Even with his pressing anxiety, Matthew knew that Yong Soo did, in fact, have a bountiful amount of favor towards his success, but there was always the probability that the spinner of fate would land on the red danger zone.

And the price to pay for such an outcome might be too high for Matthew's liking.

1

Drip.

Drip. Drip.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

A drop of scarlet runs down the bridge of a nose and clings onto the rounded tip, before freefalling to the concrete, a little circle left behind to mark its existence.

_But it's not a bridge anymore. No, it's broken. Shattered. Cracked._

A pool of blackish-blue discolor a section of skin on a calf, the surface throbbing.

_They're all over the place. Arms. Legs. Face. Neck. Everywhere. You know why, don't you?_

There is a figure, standing up, eyes fastened so tightly on the wounded body sprawled on the sidewalk, debilitated.

_Don't try and hide the reason. We all know…We knew from the very, very beginning. Sucks that you didn't see it coming…_

The figure has a fist clenched tightly, muscles straining, nails engraving crescents into the palm, knuckles decorated with the victim's blood.

_They made a deal, didn't they? Not a fair deal, but a deal you couldn't have objected to. _

Eyelids avert the figure's gaze as water leaks out of their corners.

_You thought it would be the best way to go without so much pain. But there is pain. Pain in you, pain in him. Especially him. And did I mention the guilt? That ravenous monster that's gnawing away at your insides. It hurts, right? It really hurts. And it's that special kind of hurt that remains in you no matter what. The kind that can't be erased. I know you knew it would be this way. Yet, you decided to accept it anyway._

The injured boy shifts what he can move, looks into the other's gaze. The figure parrots the victim's sorrow, a genuine expression of melancholy. He faces the opposite direction and plods away, head bent to the ground, salty tears coloring his cheeks pink.

_You hate them. You hate yourself. You hate everything you see because somehow it has to do with what just happened. Hate. Such a simple word. Only four letters. But it's more. So much more. You do realize they are happy now. They want to see the pain, the guilt, the hatred. They love it. They love the blood. They love the tears. They love how it _drips, drips, drips.

Drip. Drip.

Drip.

2

**A/N: One little side note: I snuck in some elements of a favorite movie of mine into the story. I give you a glomp if you know what it is. At any rate, see you all next update!**

**~AnimeOtakuFreak1029**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"_When you have got an elephant by the hind legs and he is trying to run away, it's best to let him run." - Abraham Lincoln_

* * *

Im Yong Soo drummed his fingers on the edges of a rusting forest green dumpster impatiently, his brown eyes passively observing the alleyway devoid of people. He had been undercover for fifteen minutes, yet no sight of the peeper. With his shins begging for respite from bearing the weight of his upper body, Yong Soo was beginning to think the entire ordeal had been a mere prank until faint, yet somewhat audible voices could be picked up from the opposite end of the alley. The Korean immediately crouched lower to the broken asphalt, his only viewing access being through a sliver of space between the brick wall of the orphanage and the dumpster.

Two young men were ambling down the stretch of pebbly ground. One was almost hoary-headed –if a teenager could ever possess the hair of an elder – with brilliant red-tinted eyes, and pale skin. The other possessed a mop of dusky brown hair, bright green eyes and slightly tanned skin. Yong Soo sized them up, taking note of the dagger hilt each wore at their hips.

The white-haired man propped himself against the bricks, flicking the metal rungs of the fire escape. "Alright, lover boy, it's all yours, but I wouldn't be drooling all over the window pane this time. That kid isn't blind, you know."

The other man gripped the first rung of the ladder. "_Yo sé_,_ yo sé mi amigo. _No need to worry. He doesn't look out the window often anyway." He grabbed binoculars from the white-haired man, put the equipment under his arm and ascended to the second floor window.

Yong Soo knew now would be the opportune moment to launch his attack on the privacy invaders, but a well constructed plan had not necessarily been part of the Korean's prerequisites before assuming a post. He knew that he was at a disadvantage with only his bare hands as weapons, but the element of surprise could easily allow him to effectively cease the intrusion before weapons were drawn. _Besides,_ Yong Soo thought, _the person on the ladder won't be able to harm me at a fast pace. Unless he has wicked aim and could toss his knife… _Yong Soo shook the disturbing thought from his head. He would just need to make sure he had his eye on both men while he made his advancements. Now to actually make those advancements….

1

"_Kanshou_!"

Sometimes Yao wished, for one single day of his life, he didn't need to respond to that word. He dreamed it would be no longer his responsibility to tend to the child who had been seeking him out for some reason that would leave him tired and bedraggled, but he couldn't rightly complain, not when he had always adored children. He had been employed as the orphanage's new owner many years ago, at about 18 years of age**. **The previous caretaker had drilled into the Chinese male's mind the basis of his workplace. When he had ruminated the name of the housing, he wanted something symbolic that would outline their purpose without being overly blunt about it. After a month of research, he came across the word Acadia, an olden providence of Canada that had dissolved into the past. He had felt that Acadia, a forgotten place, had somehow been, in a rather awkward way, reincarnated into the orphanage, providing shelter for souls that were just as wispy and forgotten as the Canadian territory itself. Its meaning seemed gloomy and hopeless, but their goal of releasing the children unto a better life was a factor that went unsaid.

Even though the creator had passed away with a suitable successor to continue running the orphanage, Yao found the copious amount of parentless children nearly impossible to handle alone. An exact clone of himself could always make his job twice as easy….

"Yao! Are you listening? I still don't get this math problem!"

Sucked back into the waking world, Yao retuned his attention to the eight year old boy seated at his side. A sheet of paper with multiplication problems lined up on its surface lay on the table, the child pointing with the eraser end of his pencil at one in the center. "What's twelve times eleven again?"

"You know the answer, aru. I know you do, aru!" Yao replied, not wishing to complete the child's homework for him. "Do you know what twelve times ten is?"

"…120?"

"Right!" A candid smile of pride on the child's face reflected onto Yao's. "Now, try adding twelve to 120. What do you get?"

After several pensive moments, the youngster's visage illuminated. "132!"

"Exactly, aru! There's your answer, aru!" In his peripheral vision, swaths of blond hair floated pass the doorway. Yao stood in the rectangular space and stuck his head out, spotting Matthew walking down toward the staircase. "Matthew!" he called. The teenager made eye contact with the caretaker.

"Yes, Yao?"

"Could you take out the garbage for me, aru? I have a lot of bills to go over tonight after I help with homework and I don't want to miss the evening round, aru."

Matthew gave a nod. "I sure will, Yao." With that, the orphan's figure receded into the first floor. Yao leaned against the wood rim of the doorway as he pondered his freely chosen profession. He soon realized that his predicament was synonymous with that of the little old lady who lived in a shoe. He considered himself an expert in the field of having too many children and not knowing what to do with them, but there seemed to be a rift between reality and the fairy tale. For one, Yao and the orphans didn't make their home in oversized footwear. For another, every one of the Old Lady's children were around the same age, whereas he had a handful of teenagers that were willing to help him- especially Yong Soo and Matthew. Yao knew it was unethical in the orphan business to possess this mindset, but he was thankful the aforementioned orphans had remained in their unclaimed state. Without their willingness to assist him, his efficiency as a caretaker wouldn't have been possible, unless he had access to a doppelganger of some sort. A smile curved his lips.

"This problem's tricky, too, Yao!"

He cast a gaze over his shoulder. "I'll be there in a just a second, aru. Have some patience, aru," he responded, fingernails tapping against the wood that bore some his weight. Memories of Matthew flashed through his head, a timeline of the resident's life all in his cerebral, before he attended to the math problems.

2

"There…there he is...Oh, he's so adorable, Gilbert. You have no idea….the other one's pretty cute too, but not…." The Spaniard shifted slightly closer to the window, "…his….his roommate's giving him a tomato and…oh God….the way the juice dribbles down his chin …."

The man by the name of Gilbert chuckled softly at his accomplice's remark. "I still don't understand your rabid attraction to this dude, but if that was a cute chick, I'd be the person mooning over her,"

The other man ignored his response almost entirely. "Now…he-he's undressing…and…and….._haah_."

Gilbert smirked, knowing better than to inquire or even ponder what his comrade was envisioning. Ever since their leader had administered patrols to investigate whether or not other homeless groups were considering a sneak attack on their home, the two had been returning to this building in particular for the purposing of indulging in, as Antonio would say, "the precious jewels beyond the windows just waiting to be dug out and admired."

No matter how poetic his intentions were described, Antonio's pedophilic tendencies were less than accepted by others in their gang, except for Gilbert, who didn't mind the peeping all too much, so long as they weren't found out.

Gilbert raised an eyebrow at the sound of rustling and grunting on his right side. He turned his head, belligerence claiming him at the sight of a boy around their age setting down white plastic garbage bags to be thrown out in the dumpster nearby. He had wispy blond hair, thin lurid arms and a pair of spectacles perched on his nose.

He squinted harder at the distant figure, a sense of recognization filling him from within. Something about that teen seemed familiar in an extremely uncanny way… Could it be…?

"Alfred?" he asked. _What was he doing here? I thought Vash had put him on kiddy duty today…._

The teen made no sign of response, indicating he was either purposefully ignoring Gilbert, or he merely hadn't heard the albino call his name.

"Hey! Alfred!" he repeated, this time with a good increase in volume. Gilbert strode up to the blond, who was placing the trash bags into the metal container. "What are you doing over at this end of the alley?" Gilbert tapped the gang member's shoulder when no eye contact was established.

The kid dubbed Alfred turned his attention to Gilbert, taken aback at first, but then appearing as if bewildered. "Um…" the blond stuttered in an undertone, "I think you have the wrong person…."

Gilbert chuckled merrily. "Oh, nice one, Al! Putting on a disguise and trying to act timid, huh? I gotta hand it to you. I had no idea who you were." He placed an elbow on Alfred's shoulder. "You should get back to Base, though. Vash will have your head if he finds out you've left the kids by themselves."

"Alfred" casually brushed off the elbow and folded his arms in objection. "Look, I don't know why you keep on insisting I'm this Alfred, but I'm not, okay? So why don't you gather your friend over there-" here, he nodded to Antonio, who was too engrossed in his fantasies to have taken notice of his friend's absence, "-and beat it before I call the police on you for invading other people's privacy."

Gilbert opened his mouth to interject or defend himself, but his lips were pressed together once again. In this moment, a blur of movement zoomed out from behind the bin, seized Gilbert and pinned against the nearest wall, eyes blazing in ire. "What do you think you're doing?' his captor growled, nails digging into Gilbert's T-shirt.

Out of habit, Gilbert made a cursory examination with his eyes for any sort of weapon the other person might have. Since there appeared to be no sign of a firearm or knife of any sort, he allowed himself to compose a tad bit. His senses were still rigid, taking a possible knowledge in defense into account. "I'm talking to a friend here….." he eyes swiveled to the blond, hoping he would sympathetic enough to coax the tall kid into releasing him.

The person he has assumed was Alfred didn't flinch nor make any attempt to bail him out; he just stood there, concentrated on him, eyes in violet flames. _Violet? _With a sinking feeling deep in his gut, Gilbert came to terms with his fatal mistake.

"Matthew? Your friend? I wouldn't think so," the boy, appearing Asian in ethnicity, sneered contemptuously. "Now, the fact that you were standing over near that guy-" Ever-so-oblivious Antonio still perpetuated his sight-seeing even with the male's vociferous voice. "-and helping him with his peeping is very suspicious. Care to explain now?"

Gilbert tilted his head towards the gravel, a gruesome smile on his countenance. "Nope." With that, he lifted his left foot and stamped on the Asian's shoe as hard as his strength would permit. The Asian howled in pain, his grip loosening just enough for Gilbert to liberate himself.

Before he could make a quick getaway, the newly named Matthew hooked his arms underneath Gilbert's armpits, squeezing the joints together so as to secure Gilbert's prison. The latter swung his legs as much as feasible, but he found it difficult to even inflict damage upon the blond that held him hostage.

"Hey, Gilbert? What time is-?" Antonio, at long last, retrogressing to the normal world, lowered the binoculars from his eyes and glanced to the area where his friend normally stood, only to have his eyes meet vacancy. Immediately, his eyes flew to the end of the alley, where his accomplice was being held by some scrawny blond.

The Spaniard descended the ladder and sprinted down the alley, aiming to throw a punch at the sandy-haired male, but an unexpected object had mysteriously obstructed his path and caused him to plummet face-first into the gravel. As Antonio flipped over, someone pressed his knees into his back, clamping Antonio into place-stomach plastered to the ground. His attacker gripped his shoulder and forcibly lifted Antonio's body toward him, bending his spine in a way spines shouldn't bend. A cry of pain escaped his lips as Antonio struggled to remove the undesired person trapping him.

Antonio's silent wish was suddenly granted as the weight on his lower back was allayed. Gilbert, having successfully wrenched his arms out of the makeshift shackles his attacker had created, had gone to exterminate the problem and now assisted Antonio in returning to shaky limbs.

The green-eyed man was about to give a breathless thanks to Gilbert, but the albino whisked both of them away down the alley before another word could be said.

3

Matthew groaned, propping himself up on his elbow and reaching a hand up to tenderly stroke the weld on his forehead- a gift from the mysterious albino male who had been involved with peeping on Feliciano. His eyes scanned the area, pinpointing the location of Yong Soo, who had also been a victim to the peeper's fists. He scampered over to Yong Soo, relief coursing through him that no open wound had been given. The said Korean lifted his head from the path, grunting in discomfort as his hand gingerly applied pressure to his nose, making certain no factures were present in the bone.

"Are you okay?" the simplest question anyone could ever inquire left Matthew's lips automatically, eyes with a disquieting tinge to them.

Yong Soo first kneeled, and then stood to full height, an aura of vexation engulfing him. "I can't believe those bastards got away!" he began to make a break for the other end of the alleyway, but Matthew's hand held him back.

"There's no need to get ourselves in danger. They are probably long gone by now and we won't be able to trace their-"

But Yong Soo wrung his wrist free from Matthew's handclasp, proceeding to bolt down the fractured pathway, skidding to a halt at the end. A low growl of hindrance rumbled in the Korean's throat as he peered down the right side of the back way perpendicular to the alleyway flanking the orphanage, seemed to have seen something and perpetuated his running.

"YONG SOO!" Matthew exclaimed, voice strangled in horror, as he scampered after his friend, making a sharp turn down the alleyway Yong Soo had previously ventured. He could spot, at the far end, the aforementioned person and the two street dwellers farther up the expanse. Matthew quickened his pace, heart pounding under the heavy demand for oxygen, eyes focused on his friend just ahead of him.

"YONG SOO!" he cried again, desperation evident in his call. The person to whom the name belonged to didn't break his stride, but changed his head's orientation for a hasty glimpse at Matthew, before returning his attention to the peeper and his accomplice.

A T-intersection loomed up in the distance, making Matthew's stomach list in the choppy waters of his nerves. The alleyways of this area were immensely complicated and there was unbearably high percentage of Yong Soo and him becoming stranded in a labyrinth of backstreets- not to mention the fact that the getaways they were hoping to catch knew these narrow passages a lot better than he did. _This is a pointless chase! They'll lose us in no time, no matter how fast we run!_ Matthew concluded, irritated that this fact refuse to penetrate Yong Soo's thick skull.

Matthew had just come out of his inner monologue in time to observe Peeper #1 and Peeper #2 diverge, at the intersection. Yong Soo immediately came to a stop, for one moment convincing Matthew that the idea of heading back had dawned on him.

"Matt! You go to the right, I'll go to the left." Yong Soo cried, just before he charged down the left arm of the intersection. Matthew growled inwardly, annoyances in his eyes as he ignored his friend's order and pursued him further.

4

Fingers slick with nervous sweat fumbled to get a good grip on the walkie-talkie in his hand.

"Gilbert..?" he spoke into the square of dots.

"…_..What, Antonio?_" an irritated Gilbert answered, the occasional pants and grunts indirectly informing Antonio his friend was still running.

"Where are you…?"

Silence. Antonio waited, thumbing the button on the side of the device in apprehension.

"Gilbert!" he called, an odd sensation of panic rising in his throat.

"_Would you keep it down? I'm trying to find a place to hide before those two find me!_" he hissed, leaving Antonio only to imagine what sort of expression rode Gilbert's face now.

"_Anyway, I'm in the middle of the long alley south of that wall with the orange graffiti on it._"

Antonio knit his eyebrows. "You mean the one that says "In America –Bandit Keith" on it?"

"_Yeah. I'm across from that. The others are behind me at the very end of the alley. How 'bout you?_"

"Well, I'm two blocks away from the tenements, so closer to Base than you, obviously," he fell silent, pondering, before continuing his sentence. "Should I radio in reinforcements?"

"_Not yet. Just tell Vash to keep an eye out for me on the left side of the back street." _There was a twinge of urgency to his voice. "_If I'm lucky, I'll make it to safety and loose them before they catch-_"

A collection of clattering, rustling and crashing sounds vibrated through the speaker, accompanied by a distant "_Shit!_"

"_Gotta go, Toni. Wish me luck. Over and out."_

"Over and out." Antonio grumbled, knowing better than to ask exactly what sort of fault Gilbert had made in his effort to hide. Swiftly, he skulked down a wide stretch of pavement, fingers a blur as he changed the walkie-talkie's channel.

5

"_Vash? You there, over?"_

A blond eyebrow hiked up a forehead as a young man glanced at his walkie-talkie. Deftly, he unclipped the device from a belt hoop of his camo-patterned pants, held a button on the side with his thumb and spoke dully into the receiver. "What is it, Antonio? Is there a problem on Block 6?"

"_Not exactly." _The response came hesitantly, as if there were bits of information Antonio was attempting not to unveil at any cost.

"Enlighten me." Vash demanded coolly, his tone strangely keeping itself even, although a considerable amount of emotions were pushing up from within his guts.

"_While Gilbert and I were patrolling that one block, we came across two teenagers who put up a fight because we were trespassing. They seem to live nearby that area…"_

Vash fell silent, pondering for a few seconds. "Go on…"

"_Both of them are chasing Gilbert at the moment. He told me to tell you that he will be reentering from the left arm of the backstreet."_

Eyelids closed around Vash's sight. "I see… And where are you?"

"_I'm a few feet away from the right entrance at the front of Base._"

He was pensive, tapping the plastic casing of the walkie-talkie. "Once you cross the border, get Ludwig and meet me at the entrance to the backstreet. I doubt two teenagers will be hard to handle, but we should have some sort of force to intimidate them."

"_Rodger! Over and out!_"

As he rehooked his walkie-talkie back to his waist, he traced the handle of his favorite shotgun, eyes alert for the slightest movement along the weather-spurned cement of the tenements.

His hand coiled around the shotgun, forefinger running the length of the trigger at the sight of Gilbert sprinting towards him, a blurred figure hot on his heels.

6

Matthew had no idea how he and Yong Soo had been separated.

It had occurred in a flash. One moment, Yong Soo was tearing at the ground, hands outstretched to capture his prey. A swift double take, a skittering of rubber soles, a dizzy mess of motion streaking across Matthew's vision and Yong Soo was nowhere to be seen, as if he had exploded into a flimsy puff of smoke and dispersed into the atmosphere.

Of course, it went without verbal support that poor Yong Soo had been shoved around the corner, as opposed to being a victim of a novice magic trick, but Matthew's cerebral couldn't function quickly enough to arrive at this conclusion.

He had the excessive want to stop and seek out his friend whom had been forsaken in their dust, but some unknown force drove him onward in the chase, as if the peeper's accomplice had slashed the padlock to some cage, releasing a manic beast of rage Matthew had never known existed within him. He began to get increasingly irritated the person he pursued. For one, he seemed to be obnoxious enough to aid someone in infringement of privacy. For another, he had caused harm to Yong Soo, and that wasn't going to slide past Matthew. His cardiovascular system working overtime to supply fuel to Matthew's calf muscles, he forced himself to open his stride until he almost ran by the albino's side. Matthew smirked, triumph on his visage as an outstretched hand ventured forward, attempting to seize hold of his sullied T-shirt.

A blur of a thing rushed out from somewhere beyond his peripheral vision, obstructing his path, thus preventing him from laying even a fingertip upon the fibers of the teen's attire. This occurred rapidly, giving Matthew only a few moments to cease his forward motion. Unfortunately, the friction of his sneakers were not enough to defy the law of inertia, and the obstruction itself had to serve as Matthew's way to bring himself to a halt. The object, now clearly identified, wasted no time in seizing the blonde's shoulder and, to Matthew's complete horror, aiming the muzzle of a handgun directly at the bridge of his nose.

The wielder of this weapon shared Matthew's wheat colored hair that barely grazed his shoulders. He was clothed in a faded white T-shirt and camouflage sweatpants, making him appear as if he were a boot camp instructor that had teleported into the alleyways of New York City. The more prominent feature, though, were his pair of sharp emerald eyes which seemed to act as lazers, piercing through layers of flesh and bone right into Matthew's soul.

"What are you doing here?" The man inquired, his voice so bitter, it seemed almost corrosive.

Underneath such intimidation, Matthew's heart flew to his mouth as he attempted to form words, but his tongue seemed too stunned. "I-I was…Well-he was…p-p-peeping and…..there was a-another kid….."

The green-eyed man's eyes narrowed, but not in suspicion. "I see…." He then proceeded to grumble under his breath, withdrawing his gun. Matthew couldn't help but sign in relief, though he noticed the other man still held the firearm in his hand. "Was this "peeper" the young man you were chasing before?"

Now that his chances of survival had increased to a more stable level, his voice didn't tremble as much. "He was one of them. The other one…is over there." Matthew added the last bit when he caught sight of two men approaching him.

"Figures," the armed man replied, more to himself than anything. He followed Matthew's gaze for a moment, before re-gluing his sight to the supposed intruder.

As the group neared, an impressively muscular man addressed the green-eyed male. "What seems to be the problem, Vash?"

Matthew swallowed nervously, his comfort level warped once again at the sight of the new arrival's biceps. They weren't overly massive, but from one look, Matthew knew it wouldn't take much for this guy to flatten him into an orphan-flavored pancake. The way the male's icy blue irises scanned him, didn't improve Matthew's nerves much either.

"Apparently, this young man here was chasing after Gilbert and Antonio because they were invading someone's privacy." Vash reply plaintively, eyes welded to the teenager beside the muscle man, whom Matthew identified as one of the peepers he had just recently been pursuing.

"That does sound believable." the blonde mused, eying Gilbert and Antonio suspiciously. "Perhaps you can let him go?"

One shake from Vash's head seemed to seal Matthew's fate. "I can't risk the chance that he's a spy."

"All the more reason to let him go, _sí _?" Peeper #1 , whom Matthew was now obliged to identify by Antonio, piped up.

Vash was speculative for a moment, before issuing orders to his subordinates: "Gilbert and Antonio, go back to the right alley and help with kiddie duty please. Ludwig, keep an eye on this entrance while I'm gone and you-" Vash's x-ray eyes glared at Matthew. "Come with me."

In this split moment, Matthew knew he should run. He should sprint like mad, and escape these hoodlums Yao warned him about so many times over. But before he could send a message to his legs to begin motion, Vash had forcibly grabbed his hand, yanked him in the opposite direction of his door to emancipation and into the void of uncertainty of what his captor had in store for him.

7

He liked the ice. He liked how the air bubbles slithered away from each of his steps, as if they feared being squashed. He liked how he could see the ripples in its bumpy surface- a three-dimensional picture.

_A moment frozen in time._

He chuckled at his "punny" joke as he strolled past a playground, a chain-link fence the only separation between the swings and him. He paused and gazed at the fence for a moment, noticing the bits of ice that clung to its metallic surface. Gingerly, he grazed one drop of the freezing drops, as if it would crumble like sand the minute pressure was applied.

Sound waves entered his ear, but he didn't react to them until an elbow jabbed him out of his trance.

"Let's go."

And he walked away from the fence, but kept it in his peripheral vision until he vanished around a corner.

* * *

**Author's Note: And it is finally complete, my friends! I've been anxious to continue this little guy, but my recent oneshot has kinda pushed things back a little (not to mention my other fics OTL). Not to worry, though! I'm trying my best to continue working and to hopefully provide you all with updates sooner (or later).**

**~AnimeOtakuFreak1029**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"_Fear makes strangers of people who would be friends." –Shirley MacLaine_

* * *

"Alfred! Can we play tag? PLEEAAASSSSEEEEE?" A child quite far from leaving her youth tugged on the teenager's jean cuff.

Alfred sighed inwardly. "Not now, Emily…" he complained, groaning in lassitude.

"Why not?" Emily whined, her eyebrows sagging indisapproval. She jutted her lower lip, attempting a puppy dog face, but Alfred merely rolled his eyes, not impressed.

Emily grimaced and crossed her arms. "Well, you're no fun!" she pouted, turning her back to him.

A smirk crawled onto Alfred's countenance. Swiftly, he leaned his body forward and tapped Emily on the shoulder, yelling "Emily's it, everyone! Run away!"

The other assembled youngsters ceased their activities to observe Alfred sprinting from a seething Emily and followed suit, scampering in all directions like a throng of startled pigeons taking flight.

Emily kept up her pursue of Alfred as he ran in a circuitous pattern, but soon noticing how Alfred's stride significantly overpowered her miniscule steps, she scanned the other inhabitants of the alley for worthier prey. With Emily's attention focused on someone else, Alfred could reward himself with a brief respite from running, but still kept his cerulean eyes on "It" in case she decided to perpetuate the pursuance. However, his gaze shifted to a pair of men unlatching the chain-link fence that blocked the entrance to the alley, a heated argument fermenting between them.

"If you weren't so insistent on being a peeper, we might've actually _found_ her, but nooooo. Your fucking fan service means more than Elizaveta's life." Gilbert's voice came out in waves of fury, but he couldn't mask the undertones betraying his ultimate melancholy.

"Gilbert…I want to find Veta as much as you do, but there weren't as many threats in that area. Besides, we weren't even _assigned_ to be searching fo-"

"Look, just shut up, okay? It's obvious you don't give a fuck! I'm tired this shit." Footsteps sounded the albino's retreat from the alley.

"But Vash said-"

"I don't give a damn what Vash told us to do. I'm doing whatever the fuck I want to."

Antonio could only frown as Gilbert stomped his way out of the alley, the fence clanging sharply against the pole as he violently swung it closed.

Alfred, figuring the children could keep themselves entertained for the time being, walked briskly over to his friend. "Jeez, I've never seen Gilbo so distraught before…" Alfred commented after a moment of tacitly watching Antonio properly latch the fence.

The Spaniard heaved a sigh, weaving his fingers into the diamond-shaped holes of the fence. "I know, _hombre_…It's really tough on him, even if he doesn't want to admit it."

"It's been tough on all of us," Alfred replied, "which is why cussing at you and thinking that you don't care is complete shit."

Antonio gazed at the straw-blond, his eyes unveiling some sort of restored happiness, and beamed, "It's alright, Al. He just needs to cool off. You know how Gil is."

"Yeah…but still. Just because he's upset doesn't mean he can take it out on others," he stated, casting a glance back to see if the children were behaving. With the scene clear of any squabbles, he returned his attention to Antonio. "Did anything interesting happen while you were patrolling?"

Antonio opened his mouth to explain, but was cut off as Alfred's walkie –talkie crackled to life.

"_Jones?"_

In a flash, Alfred's mouth was at the speaker. "Yes?"

"_Go to Room 172. You're needed."_

"Understood." he replied, returning the device to his side. He shared a confused glance with Antonio, before he opened the fence and strode right to the tenement entrance.

After a rather lengthy stroll down a hallway, the decrepit wood creaking under his step, he came to a moldy door, the off-white paint peeling and swung it open. Within its cracked walls sat Vash, whose expressionless stare wavered only to acknowledge Alfred's arrival , and another teenager he had never seen before.

He seemed to be around Alfred's age, with wavy blonde hair that ceased its growth from his scalp at the very beginnings of his jaw line. He had shining violet eyes that gazed cautiously back at Alfred behind circular-rimmed glasses. For a moment, they blankly stared at one another, until Vash called Alfred's attention to him with a slight cough. "Alfred, I want you to be his-" here, he tilted his head in the other boy's direction, "-guard. Just keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn't try anything...Though I don't think he'll cause much trouble."

Vash got to his boots and strode away, vacating the room. _He's most likely going to check up on the returning patrol,_ Alfred thought absently as he helped himself to the chair Vash had occupied and maintained eye contact with his charge. The other teen appeared determined to avoid this contact, his irises flitting around the room. Wanting to subdue the awkward aura engulfing the room, Alfred decided to introduce himself and act as cordial as possible.

"Well, I get it's kinda obvious, but my name is Alfred. What's yours?" he flashed the teen a brilliant smile.

"Matthew," the teen responded brusquely. He pulled his knees to his sweater-covered chest, and narrowed his focus to the moth-bitten blanket draped over the cot he sat upon.

"Matthew, huh? ... Nice ta meetcha!" Alfred exclaimed, extending a hand in a formal greeting, but Matthew merely glared in apprehension at the appendage.

"I'm not going to bite you, if that's what you think," he reassured him, hoping his humorous tone would make the tense atmosphere a bit lighter, but Matthew still refused to accept the handshake. Instead, he unfolded himself and got to his knees, an enraged expression on his countenance.

"Look, I'm not making friends with someone who plans to keep watch on me like I'm a criminal, okay? I did nothing wrong! I had no idea the border was there nor am I some stupid spy. Hell, I just though city gangs were urban legends." Alfred could see the rage transmute into a sort of mild hysteria, which was an obvious result of fear. The straw-blonde's eyes watered in sympathy, as Matthew fell silent. Alfred normally lacked any skill of deciphering emotions, but the strength in Matthew's claims were potent enough for Alfred to be questioning his boss's decision to keep the poor fellow prisoner.

"Y'know, now that I think about it, you being a prisoner is kinda weird."

Matthew's eyebrows perked up, an obvious sign of increased interest. "Really?"

"Yeah. If all you did was cross the border, then Vash wouldn't have wasted any time with you,"

Without warning, Matthew's cheeks dusted themselves in a light pink shade. "Well….um…I was also kinda chasing two of your members…"

Alfred raised an eyebrow, "Oh? Which ones?"

Matthew became pensive, shutting his eyes as he searched his memory. "uh, Gilbert and Antonio?" Violet eyes were unveiled, gazing intently at Alfred, examining his face for a reaction.

At the mention of the men's names, Alfred found himself smirking, a solid prediction of what had transpired. "Lemme guess. Antonio was being a peeping tom."

Matthew was taken aback at how spot-on Alfred's conjecture was. "Yeah. He was watching one of my friends and Yong Soo chased after him when he tried to escape."

"Wait. Young Who?"

Matthew paused, realizing he had neglected to provide background information about his friend. "He's my roommate at the orphanage. He was insistent upon going after Gilbert and Antonio, so I followed. I didn't want him to get hurt. Before I knew it, I was here. I think I lost Yong Soo somewhere in the chase."

Alfred's eyes were fastened on Matthew. "Did you tell Vash this?" When Matthew verified the fact, Alfred still felt rather confused. "That still doesn't tell me why you are here. He obviously isn't completely suspicious of you being a spy; otherwise he would personally watch you and not let you leave the room."

Matthew's face seemed to illuminate in the hope that he may be released back to the orphanage today, but Alfred's next sentence shattered any such hope. "I'm sure you will be allowed out in a week or so."

"Oh…" Matthew's visage was renewed with a glum expression as his eyes returned their focus to the sheets.

The straw-blond entangled his fingers together, cerebral devoid of any words with which to assuage Matthew's disappointment. As much as Alfred desired to allow Matthew to sneak away back to his home, he knew that Vash was right to at least hold a miniscule suspicion against the teen.

As if summoned by Alfred's thoughts, the tell-tale static hiss of his radio.

"_Alfred. Change of plans. I need someone on the evening patrol who hasn't been working their butt off. Ludwig should be heading over to watch the Matthew kid now. Meet me by the fence. Over and out_."

Alfred couldn't help but give a scowl of consternation. He had an intense desire to stay with the hostage and learn more about his past, but Vash was naturally the one to butt it. His gaze flicked to Matthew, who didn't attempt to voice any reply to the change in charge.

Alfred, being the type to loathe silence, remarked. "Guess I'll be going. I'll be seeing you around, then…"

"Yeah…" Alfred could tell the blonde's cranium floated through another dimension, his violet eyes distant and clouded with pensiveness.

As Ludwig took his new post, (while taking the time to remind Alfred of where he needed to report to –as if _he_ needed to be informed of his duties five million times) the gang member couldn't push the lever to shift the tracks on his train of thought.

1

She was used to musty quarters, with only a lone cot within its four walls. She was acclimated to the scratchy wool, the cardboard-like pillow that failed to do its job.

She wasn't accustomed to every exit being locked, leaving her with no way out.

She had tried, oh how she'd tried, to free herself from her confinements. Picking locks, chucking sharp objects at windows until the glass shattered and a hole her size formed.

She had been so close, but no - he had to come by, be at the right place at the right time - to stop her from escaping his clutches. It was almost as if he possesses a sixth sense that enabled him to detect any disturbance within his domain.

That sense was an anathema to her. She hated how he boarded her only road to freedom, loathed that slab of plywood that further mocked her imprisonment, abhorred the flitting darkness that threatened to fill her very being.

Sometimes he would stand over her and flout at her predicament and the gang she hailed from.

"You'll never be rescued. Never," he'd say, brilliant teeth gleaming luridly against his tanned skin.

Her helplessness was intolerable; she wanted to be scrounged for listening to his cavernous words.

_You'll never be rescued_

_Never be rescued_

_Never be rescued._

Could it be true? Could she be stuck forever?

That awful word. Forever. Eternity. She hated it (what a surprise)

No. She knew she'd be rescued. She knew she'd have the strength and smarts to overcome her enemy

She could be lying; she loved that lie anyway. Loved it, was enamored with it, wanted to marry that gorgeous lie.

_I will be free._

_2_

"So, you're name's Sam?

Silence.

"Yeah. What's your name?"

More silence.

"John."

* * *

**Author's Note: Here we are with the third chapter. I don't think this is as good as it could be, but it's much better than the first draft. That you can count on. Thanks for reading!**

**~AnimeOtakuFreak1029**


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